


I Fell In Love With a Dead Boy

by Whispering_Sumire



Series: Antony & The Johnsons [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Biting, Blood Addiction, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Deserves Nice Things, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Heartfelt Conversations, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Pack, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scott McCall is a Bad Alpha, Scott can be insightful, Stiles-centric, Vampire Turning, Vampires, but that doesn't mean he's a good friend, he's shit at his job, maladaptive daydreaming, seriously, when insightfulness is just an excuse for abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 07:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14420226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispering_Sumire/pseuds/Whispering_Sumire
Summary: "Yep! And I actuallydosparkle, a little, it's disgusting.""You do?" Allison asks curiously around a mouthful of food. They're all sitting at Derek's table, eating the meal Stiles made for them, discussing his new state of being.Allison sets down her fork to lean over the table and scrutinize him before her eyes get very wide, "Oh my god! Youdo!""Yeah, apparently I, like, sweat pyrite or something, it's soweird. Although, it does beg the question- I mean, she kind of went into the significance of eye colors, and she definitely overdramatized the," he does jazz hands and says with a very melodramatic flair, "sparklefactor- but, maybe she knew someone? A vampire?""Huh, that's- but then what about werewolves?""Yeah, she got thoseallwrong.""Guys!" Scott sounds beyond exasperated, "This isn't Twilight! Stiles is a- he's a-""A vampire," Isaac supplies, "we got that."[Or: The one where Stiles gets turned into a vampire, angst and hijinks ensue, and it's not at all like Twilight.]





	I Fell In Love With a Dead Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Should I put a trigger warning for addiciton/ blood-play? I mean... It's _vampires_... I dunno.
> 
> There is a [Prelude](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13973691), but you don't have to read it, it's not really relevant.
> 
> Set after the Alpha Pack, Derek didn't leave but Peter and Cora did.

Curved blades, slick with blood and pieces of clinging flesh and gore slice the head of the vampire clear off. Derek is begrudgingly impressed, Stiles has gotten good with those the past few months.

His claws flay the supple flesh of a cheek away from stringy muscle and he twirls into a kick a moment later, catching another vamp, frothing at the mouth, in the side hard enough to hear a wet crunching sound.

The sounds of pain and rage these creatures of death and bloodlust and hunger make aren't animal or human, it's like a thousand different kinds of vultures screeching out their protests to a world they've been forced to surrender to. The mortality they must adhere to even in their own defiance of it. He wonders how long these things must've lived, only to be killed by a little Spark with really strange knives and a mostly Omega werewolf.

Cora and Peter offered him the perfect escape route from this place full of carnage and ghosts after- well, after. A Pack in Brazil, no Beacon, no terrible, terrifying memories, an in with the Alpha who already knew Cora, had watched her grow up. A road trip along the way, family, fresh starts, clean slates all around.

But he _couldn't_ , not when Isaac and Lydia and Scott and Allison and _Stiles_ are all still here, still so young, still trying to deal with shit so much bigger than them. And wouldn't it be selfish to leave them? If anything happened after he went, would he be able to live with himself?

And he's already having a hard enough time living with himself as it is.

The burden of _more_ guilt would kill him, surely.

Although, this situation honestly isn't much better, a Pack that doesn't know what Pack _means_ or how to _be_ Pack, an Alpha who ignores his territory and his Left Hand and everyone who, essentially, _isn't_ Allison. It's not a Pack he's even a part of, though his bond to the territory still thrums in his veins, and he wonders if Scott can even feel that, can even feel his _Pack_ -bonds.

He struggles, still, because Scott's a much better Alpha than he, even under these circumstances, even _before_ he became an Alpha. Yet, he isn't here.

Stiles said he and Isaac and Allison were having another sit-down to talk about 'feelings', and then dragged him off, all worry and frenetic energy, because there were two strange deaths and he was _sure_ , but his dad would probably kill him if he tried to go off and deal with it on his own again. Which leads to the very reasonable question: how many times _has_ he gone off to deal with it on his own? Especially considering those blades, curved and deadly, and Stiles is just _dancing_ with them like it's the most natural thing in the world.

The last vampire tries to sink its teeth in him, comes this close, hand wrapped around his throat before he can stop it, and then Stiles is coming in with an upswing of the knife, cutting its whole arm off, which gives Derek enough room to claw its throat out.

Stiles pants, looks around at the bodies, the _mess_ , and huffs a very wry sort of laugh, "We did it. Go team."

Derek doesn't feel the need to respond to that, figures he's no longer needed now that the threats been taken care of, rolls his shoulders, reels his wolf back in, and walks away. Stiles doesn't say anything either for a moment, just follows him, which isn't entirely unexpected since he drove him here.

"I don't need a ride," Derek says, ignoring the pain in his side, the blood on his clothing that's _his_. He wonders if he has any food at the Loft, then thinks, no, it was always Pack that took care of that, he was never any good at it. Then he remembers _Boyd_ , and just, tries to think of nicer things. 

Normally when he does that, goes away in his head to ignore the... _ache_. It's Stiles, that he sees, only Stiles is _here_ , talking, bringing him back down whether he likes it or not. He wonders if he should be thankful, the boy is a pretty damn good distraction.

"You may not _want_ one, Sourwolf, but you're getting one. Don't think I didn't notice those vampires digging into you, man- I mean, I get it, you're a werewolf, you _heal_ , but where's the self-preservation, huh? Which- okay, this is _me_ , I'm not the best one to be making that argument, am I? But, still! I only brought you so that if my dad asks about blood and bruises again I can totally tell him I had a werewolf to spot-check me and not be lying, not so you could get all caught up in the fray and get hurt. Although I suppose I should thank you, it was definitely easier with backup.

"My point is, you got hurt helping me, so, I'm doing the responsible thing and driving you home, period, you can't stop me!" Stiles half trips over literally nothing at all when he flails and Derek catches him, rights him, resumes walking toward the kid's jeep. He's tired, there isn't much point in arguing anyway, and his brain is already starting to feel fuzzy, drifting.

"Did you get hurt?" He asks, because he has to, because even though he can't smell pain, he knows Stiles. And Stiles is just as good as he is at hiding things like that.

"Not much," Stiles answers, and he's telling the truth, but the words were a little evasive, which is somewhat worrying. "You?"

"I'm fine."

He isn't, though, not really, hasn't been for awhile. But there isn't much to be done about that, is there?

* * *

Derek's starving, looking at the state of his fridge, and kind of shutting off.

He doesn't want to go outside, in the daylight, with all the- _people_. Smells and sounds and no Anchor, he just, he doesn't. But he's hungry. He closes his eyes and breathes, thinks of Stiles, sitting on his counter, rolling his eyes and telling him off for being afraid of the big scary world when he's a _werewolf_ , because that's just _stupid_.

It is, he thinks, but it doesn't stop his heart from wanting to beat out of his chest the moment he opens his door.

Stiles isn't there, he knows this, but he lets himself fantasize about nimble fingers, small palms, pushing against his shoulder blades, and a tender voice saying _go, already_.

It helps.

* * *

"Fuck," Stiles groans, and then tries not to laugh, because he knows he's in the boot of a car by virtue of the fact that this is so _far_ from the first time he's been kidnapped. Which, in itself, isn't even funny, it's just-

What even is his life, huh?

That this is almost normal?

Whatever, he thinks, deciding to go with it. Wrists tied behind his back, ankles and knees tied together, duct-tape over his mouth. Pocket-knife not in his back pocket, he doesn't have his saber-claws on him at school, and he's pretty sure his phone and other paraphernalia (even his gum, which, so not cool, bro) have been stripped off him.

He clenches and unclenches his muscles, loosens his body, wriggles, but that only serves to dig the zip-ties in deeper. Alright, then, no getting out of those.

He feels around with the toe of his shoe for the rear-lights, planning to kick them out when and if he can find them.

His head _hurts_ , and his memory's a little fuzzy after walking out of AP Bio with Lydia, planning on meeting up with the others for lunch, so he's _guessing_ whoever put him in the boot of their car and stole his coffee-ice-cream gum (shut up, he likes sweets, okay? Don't judge), got him while he was still _at_ school, or maybe a little after, and, as he hits what he hopes is the right spot with all the force his current position allows, he hopes one of the wolves noticed.

It's not like they have a Kanima to be chasing after, this time.

* * *

Scott shows up at his door with the Pack, or, mostly Pack. They still don't _smell_ like Pack, or look, or act like it. But they're trying, and Scott's much kinder than he was as Alpha, much better with words. Today, though, it seems like they're all running on fumes- Scott and Allison and Isaac are all at a weird distance from each other at all times, Lydia looks like she wants to set something on _fire_ , and they're all discussing the twins.

What do they do about the twins, who, apparently, want to be a part of- _this_. Whatever this is.

It lends truth to the theory of his lack of a Pack-bond and lack of ability to feel a connection to Scott's wolf, that his own wolf is growling, circling underneath his skin. Not-Pack in his Den, his territory, it makes his gums itch. His mind immediately goes to Stiles, to that place, that other, that calms him down some, and that's when he realizes.

This is a Pack-meet (supposedly), so where's Stiles?

"Scott," he grunts, low under the clamor of teenaged chatter, and the young Alpha looks at him, half excited like he's going to have answers or suggestions about this situation. He doesn't. He won't. The twins may be Betas, now, but when they were Alphas, they- with Boyd- and he just- he _can't_. He understands forgiveness and second-chances, he does, the only reason they're _here_ is because Scott gave _him_ one. But he isn't that good a person, not that kind.

"Stiles?"

Scott furrows his brow, looks around like he expects the other boy to just pop up out of nowhere, be right around the corner somewhere, but he isn't, and everyone frowns. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checks his texts, mumbles, "He should've been here by now."

"Oh, let him be," Allison says with a sweet dimpled smile that never ceases to remind him of Kate, makes his skin crawl. "He's probably sleeping, _finally_. You know how much trouble he's been having with that."

Derek raises an eyebrow. Stiles has been having trouble sleeping? He didn't know that. He should've guessed, though, with how Stiles is always showing up at random points in the middle of the night, begging after him to be his side-kick on hunts, or just holing up on his couch with curly fries and a movie and a sassy comment. But, he doesn't have the best sleeping habits either, so it just escaped his notice.

Scott concedes the point, says something about the Darkness they all let in when they sacrificed themselves to the Nemeton, before they all go back to bickering about Ethan and Aiden and the possibility of bringing _Danny_ in, too.

Derek sighs, closes his eyes, remembers the other night when Stiles made him sit on the couch beside him and watch _Rent_ while he kept up a consistent dialogue with himself and the 'writers' that went somewhere along the lines of, if these people were really wanting to help their society for the time they're in, they would be going out protesting the government, who, at the time, said that AIDs were the retribution of the sinners, they would be _helping_ the homeless, not filming them, and that the movie was doing the same thing the government was doing at that time.

It wasn't providing commentary, it wasn't doing _anything_ , it was just _looking pretty_.

Derek kind of feels like that, right now, and is starting to wonder why any of them are even here.

* * *

Kicking the taillights out did nothing but invite the swirling sand that was outside, _inside_ , giving it cause to get into his mouth every damn time he tried to _breathe_. So, nose sufficiently itchy, mouth like the fucking Sahara, he's unsurprisingly irritated as all hell by the time the trunk is opened.

A flash of red eyes proclaims _Alpha_ , that they're half shadowed and the lady has a thick white streak of hair laid in with her black tresses, that all of her pearly whites are suddenly sharp points, and her fingernails are long, shiny, onyx claws, much longer and much sharper than any wolves- proclaim her for what she is.

Vampire.

She grins at him, wide eyes bright with something only nut-jobs wear on a regular basis- full-on, batshit, _crazy_.

"Ickle wickle Sparky-warky," she purrs, her accent just as grating as her sand-paper voice, "killed my Coven, my _sisters_ , my _forevers_." Stiles would say something, some jibe as she runs her fingers through his hair in a _sickening_ way, licking her cherry red lips, grinning. But he's got duct-tape covering her mouth and he doubts she'd fucking listen anyway, looking at him like he's nothing more than meat on a silver platter, and his heart drops, because even if his Pack _is_ looking for him, he _knows_ , with a clarity that makes his heartbeat speed up and his breath hitch as bile rises in his throat-

They aren't going to get there in time.

"You're so _powerful_ ," she breathes, bending down to lick a stripe up his face, he flinches back but she holds him in place with a hand around his throat, pinpoints of her claws digging into skin, breaking it, causing blood to bubble up, she takes a deep breath and makes a guttural sort of pleased sound. Stiles swallows, squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of helpless tears, of _shame_ , as she bends down to fucking _suck_ at the scratches she made.

"You're as bright as a _star_ ," she pants. "My Coven will be better to rebuild with you in it, and your punishment," she giggles maniacally, "for killing them, will be becoming _mine_!"

Then she bites down, right on his pulse-point, and he, inexplicably, thinks of Derek.

He thinks of Derek on the night that Boyd died, breaking, broken, confessing. He thinks of Derek, how he'll never forgive himself this, even when he couldn't have known, he'll still take all that guilt, drown in it.

His dad, his dad is strong, his dad will have Scott and Melissa, the rest of the Pack, too, but Derek- he'll be all _alone_. And he probably won't even _say_ anything. He'll just let it be another sin, another death he's accrued.

Stiles tries to fight, tries to scream, tries to pull on this _Spark_ everyone keeps telling him he fucking has, but _nothing_.

Nothing but the feeling of teeth and pull and lull and dark, even the desperation leaves him after awhile, the sensation becoming strangely soothing, a voice in his ear cooing at him. He sees stars over her bony shoulder, her loud, wild hair, and he tries to find constellations, something to hold onto, to stay awake, aware, alive, but it doesn't last him long.

Black spots invade his vision, breathing becomes far too slow, slurping sounds right beneath his ear, and, too, a faraway slosh of water, tides.

 _Where's the moon?_ He thinks, and wonders if that's where Death lives, if it's come down from the sky to take him away, if it'll wear the face of his mother, or no face at all.

* * *

He wakes up cold, not any normal sort of cold, an eat at your bones, death-kiss sort of cold. This chill is a sharp knife embedded in his very soul, it wraps around him like a fog, like the new, aching, gnawing hunger, deep, deep inside. His body is _dry_ , so dry, his skin so thin, like it's going to crack, burnt-paper and aged. He curls in on himself, even though his skin protests _any_ movement, creaks, clawing at his stomach, delirious, because it _hurts_. Everything, all of it, but nothing more than the _thirst_.

Woman, Master, Mother, Sister, Sire, she's there, wrapping arms around him, calm, kind. He's whimpering, sobbing against the pure agony of this starvation-freeze, stale-skin wither, and she just picks him up, his bindings gone, now, but he's too weak, in too much _pain_ to do anything about it. She carries him to the water, the sea, and tells him, _"Swim_ ," before she drops him.

* * *

He doesn't need air, and the well of darkness he finds, far down, under everything, is amazing to his new, oversensitized eyes, the salt water perfect, quiet, and the _wet_ of it all hydrates his skin.

Fish-blood tastes like pearls and stone and gold, moss tastes about the same, grittier, but it cleans his teeth, his tongue. The _cold_ here matches his, and he's _fast_ , the waves can't drag him, can't slow him, no matter how they try. He swims for what feels like _years_ , but he knows must only be a day, the light on the water above him coming and going once, before he decides he must go back to shore.

He was only half-there, in the beginning, and all of his instincts responded to _Alpha_ , but she isn't his fucking Alpha, he's only ever had the _one_ Alpha, and he's back to full-cognitive thought, now. He doesn't know how the fuck he's going to deal with this, after he's done, he knows some _about_ vampires, but fucking _being_ one? Jesus, what the fuck is he gonna do?

Well, tell his dad, for one, research, figure out what'll kill him and what won't, take full advantage of the lake in the Preserve, because being underwater feels fucking _good_ , and drinking thousands of fish dry does curb the hunger somewhat.

But, first? First, he's killing the fuck out of this bitch.

* * *

He has to cover his nose as he drives, b-lining it for the loft with a rotting vampire corpse in the trunk, his body still soaking, but quickly getting dry as the minutes pass. After killing her it all got _stronger_ , the need and the want and the thirst, the oversensitivity. He can hear the hearts of a thousand people, the hum of electricity, chaotic clamor of the whole fucking town.

And the _smells_ , blood, thick, rich, sweet, want, _need_ , thirst.

Fuck.

He needs to get to Derek.

* * *

Derek's pacing, his phone easily reachable and visible on his counter. Stiles didn't go home last night, wasn't at school today, and his worry is ratcheting up, but neither he nor any of the Betas could catch any scents, and Scott said that maybe Stiles went up to some cabin he found recently, by the lake in the Preserve.

They're going to check there, now, the only reason he's here in case the hospital, the sheriff, or Stiles himself call. There's also the chance Scott will text saying they've found him.

He hates that he's been put on the sidelines to wait, but it's understandable, he's not... in the best shape.

He's so focused on the steadily building anxiety in his gut that he almost doesn't hear it, a heart, so, so, so fucking _slow_ , a tiny _thu-dmp_ every other minute coming closer.

 _Vampire_ , his mind supplies, and he's got his claws and fangs out in seconds, his wolf responding to the threat, crouching into a defensive position, only for his heart to stutter, his breath to hitch, and his whole world to swoop out from under him when the large steel door opens to reveal... _Stiles_.

He's soaking wet, a shock of white hair now standing out amongst his thick, steadily growing, russet locks, his eyes are flashing dangerously from shadowed red to murky brown with every panted breath, and his _clawed_ hand is covering his nose, his mouth. He walks _fast_ , so fast he's barely a blur, and then he's in front of Derek.

"Alpha," he says, pointing at Derek's chest, eyes locking on his, _pleading_. "My Alpha," and then, even though he has to grunt with the effort of fighting against his instincts, even though it makes him tremble and whimper, he arches his neck to the side, an offering.

"Please," he breathes, "I don't know how much longer I can last, please, Derek, please."

Derek takes in a deep, sharp breath. Stiles smells, he still smells like _Stiles_ , but there's more to it, now, sickly sweet, like too many flowers, like new-death. He doesn't know how it happened, or what's going on, but he knows Stiles needs him, and, upon seeing a bite, already silvery and whitened scar-tissue, he knows what he needs to do.

He gathers Stiles in his arms, presses in close even though the boy feels shockingly, terrifyingly _cold_ , wraps a hand around the back of his neck, angling him, leans down, and _bites_.

Stiles' arms shake when they come up around him, sharp claws dig into his back painfully, but he ignores it. He feels puffs of frigid air against his neck, and Stiles shivers in his hold as blood, sluggish and the barest hints of it, finally bubbles from broken skin.

"Der, _stop_ me," Stiles begs as Derek unlatches from the boy's neck and his lips, his teeth, get closer. "I'm too hungry," he growls, sounding frustrated, on the brink of tears, "I can't do it myself, you have to stop me."

Derek takes a deep breath, feeling the _rush_ of absolute power that comes from being _Alpha_ again, his wolf howling, pleased, the bond with the land smoothing out where it had frayed, and his Pack-bond with Stiles clicking into place, strong, red glow.

"I can heal Stiles," he murmurs gruffly, closing his eyes, not surrendering or submitting, but giving into an Alpha's instincts to care for his Pack-mates. _"Drink."_

Teeth sink in then, sharp, piercing, a tongue flicking around, lips and jaw locking around tender flesh, and he nearly doubles over at the new, immediate sensation, suction, something different, a pleasure-pain there just aren't words for as Stiles takes him, claws raking down his back. He whimpers, moans, knees buckling, but Stiles is latched on, making his own mewling noises, and he just holds, ending up in his lap when he gives in and goes down.

"Nnh-aah, St-Stiles," he shivers, his wolf has never settled so far down before, been completely assured of his safety even in the face of danger, the Alpha in him, given by this boy, purrs at the paradoxical situation, and his own body, thrumming with new power, with _whatever_ this is, writhes against the vampire as his breaths come in short, hard gasps.

Stiles presses against him, hard length against his hip, throbbing, and Derek whines when Stiles ruts against him, still drinking, taking all he can. Derek can feel his blood draining, healing, replenishing, not so fast that they won't have to stop eventually, but fast _enough_. Derek shifts, lifts Stiles up a bit, moves so that the boy is straddling his thigh, and sets him down _hard_ against him, both hands squeezing his ass, massaging the supple flesh under his clothes, grinding him down.

His teeth sink down further, grind into muscle as the boy trembles, makes a muffled keening noise, hips stuttering and frantic as he whines, grinding fast and harsh and desperate, his leg kneading into Derek's cock with every erratic thrust, but it's not _enough_ , for either of them.

Derek's gasping, lust-addled, lost to the pull of this as much as Stiles is, a build of frustration and need and fucking _yearning_ , and his mind won't clear, everything going fuzzy around the edges, his senses dampening.

 _"Please,"_ he has no idea what he's begging for, he doesn't even really know _who_ he's begging, not entirely, he has the vague idea, but it isn't clear. He hears a wet, slurping sort of sound, feels sharpness in his shoulder ease, and whines at the sensation, oddly bereft at the _loss_ , of contact, pain, intimacy.

"Hush, Der," Stiles murmurs, husky, lapping at the blood that leaked from his mouth, that's still oozing out of the wound that's yet to heal. Blunt, human fingernails run through his hair, scratch tender at his back where dried blood (from the deep gashes his claws made, that have already mostly healed) has become crusty and flakes off easily.

Derek has no idea how long they've been there, wouldn't be able to tell you if he tried.

"Please," he says again, a rasp, throat scratchy, body shiver-tremble weak from blood-loss and adrenaline and whatever other chemicals are racing through him. Beta eyes flash at him, irises black-velvet shadow, pupils lust blown. Stiles swallows, eyes flicking down to his mouth, before he comes forward slowly, presses copper-iron soft-supple lips against his, a gentle touch, a tiny kitten lick, and then he's pulling back, framing Derek's face with his hands.

"I want to," Stiles says, and werewolves can tell even when _vampires_ lie, he's telling the truth, "God, I _want_ to."

Orchids and lemon juice, soft-death and heavy earthy musk. The scent of Stiles' arousal comes up and meets with his, restless and needy and divine.

"But what that just did to you, to us? Doing this right now would be-"

"-bad." Derek concedes, still feeling pretty out of it, honestly, but starting to come around, back to earth, himself, clarity. Stiles brushes tender fingers from his cheekbones to his hair, back again, soothing, repetitive, and the sleep he almost never allows himself begins to invade, making his limbs feel pliant, relaxed, all the edges of the world going soft.

"Yeah," Stiles chuckles gently. "You tired, Alpha?"

"Mmm," Derek hums, because that's all his heavy body will allow him at the moment, and he thinks he sees the hint of a mildly worried smile from Stiles before his dreams take him.

* * *

John answers the phone without even looking at the caller ID, too fucking worried to give a damn. "Stiles?" He hopes, agitatedly, even though it hasn't been the past five times, it probably isn't, now, but he can't help it.

"Yeah, dad," his son answers, sounding just the slightest bit shaky, even under the bravado he puts up for him.

"Jesus, kid. Whare the hell were you? You scared all of us half to death. Are you okay?"

"I'm- Well, no, I'm not okay- I'm kind of a vampire, but don't freak out!"

"I- you can't just say that and expect me not to freak out!"

"True. Fair. Are you having a heart attack? Are you okay?"

"You- your priorities are all outta whack, kid, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yep, but, seriously, I'm fine. I didn't ask for it, but I dealt with the person who did it to me and- and I'm dealing with the side-effects, I'm okay, seriously, I just wanted to tell you."

"If- god, Stiles... Okay. I trust you, if you say you're okay, I just gotta hope you're okay. Is anyone with you?"

"Yeah, Derek, he's takin' care of me- and by that I mean he let me basically drain him dry like the stupid martyr idiot he is," and Stiles' tone is as exasperated as it is fond, which isn't exactly surprising when he's talking about Derek Hale, and the sheriff tamps down _that_ panic for another day, because he can only handle so much, "so I'm gonna stay with him for awhile, make sure he's alright. But, I don't know how long I was in the boot of that lady's car-"

"-Couldn't you have checked before you called me? And I'm assuming this... _lady_ , is of-- y-your current persuasion?"

"I could've, but I didn't," Stiles answers unapologetically, then, "And, yes, she _was_. Took care of it, I swear, no worries. Just wanted to let you know I was alive... Well, sorta."

"Werewolves, Darachs, _Vampires_? Swear to god, Stiles, you couldn't have just gotten a girl pregnant?"

"C'mon, dad!" Stiles crows, indignant and delighted at once, "I know about _condoms_ , I wouldn't become a part of that statistic. I'd never do that to you, this is _much_ better."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say, kiddo. Just don't- don't go out in the sun, alright?"

Stiles snickers, "I don't think it works like that, dad, but sure. I love you."

"Love you, too."

The call cuts out and John leans back in his chair, heaves a great big sigh, and wonders what the _hell_ they're gonna do now.

* * *

Derek wakes up in his bed, freezing body pressed up against his, hand carding through his hair, soft lilty-hum of a song being sung into the shell of his ear. It's oddly reminiscent of that night Boyd died, the night he told Stiles something he'd never even told _Laura_.

Something Stiles never told anyone else, either, not Scott, not anyone, and Derek still doesn't know what to do with that, or the fact that Stiles _wanted_ to, but _didn't_ go any further last night.

Is just holding him, close and soft and sweet. Like _Derek's_ the one who needs to be comforted, even though _Stiles_ is...

"I'm sorry," he manages, for lack of anything better, and Stiles stops singing.

They lay there, tangled together, and as intimate as it is, it's nothing compared to what happened last night- it's also so, so much more. Kinder. More affectionate. Softer, less crude, just different. Not better necessarily, but _deeper_ somehow.

"For what?" Stiles asks quietly, like he already knows the answer, but he needs to ask, needs to hear it.

"I should've protected you better," he whispers, ashamed, "I'm so sorry this happened to you. I should've known, I should've-"

" _Der_ ," Stiles murmurs, presses a kiss against his temple, takes a very deep breath, "not your fault."

But it feels like it is, the weight of it right up and under his heart, _press_ , the human, his human, his Pack- and he's something else now, something he didn't ask for, something that smells the sweet of death and the copper of blood.

He should've known there hadn't been an Alpha Vampire amongst those they killed, for that's the only explanation for this that makes sense- he should have _noticed_. Or went after Stiles sooner, been more worried, _something_.

"And besides," Stiles sniffs as haughtily as he can manage, "I'm totally gonna be a badass vampire. I'll be even more badass than _Scott_ , can you imagine? He's gonna be _so_ jealous. He'll be _my_ Robin, ha! And I'll be _bat_ man, with the bats, oh my god. It even _fits_ perfectly."

Derek nuzzles in deeper, rubs his hands up and down Stiles' cold, cold arms. He'll never be warm again, will he?

"We need to go to Deaton," Stiles says after a moment, "we don't know about vampires. Like, will eating garlic kill me? The sun? Do I- ugh, do I _sparkle_?"

Derek snorts, and Stiles hits his shoulder.

"It's a valid question!"

"Sure," Derek smiles sleepily, and Stiles beams at him, his face so much paler than usual, but his eyes the same thick, wood-honey melt that devours and is always brimming with the light of laughter and _life_.

They lay there a while longer, Stiles carding fingers through his hair, Derek tracing every angle and line of his face as if memorizing it.

"What happened?" He asks, because even though he already has an idea, he needs to hear it from Stiles, his Beta.

"An Alpha vampire," Stiles sighs, fingers tightening in his hair just a little before he consciously eases them, "retribution for us killing her Coven. She saw my Spark and apparently decided that _changing_ me would be better than killing me- she didn't expect me to be stubborn enough to fight the pull of my Sire so soon after the change. She's in the boot of her car, which is in your parking lot, by the way, we should probably do something about that."

"Sorry," Derek says again, before he can help it, and Stiles frowns.

"It isn't your fault," he murmurs, places a gentle little peck on Derek's lips that feels like ice, tingles, numbs. Derek pulls him closer, shivers against the freeze, licks at the seam of Stiles' mouth until he opens, their tongues sliding together, tastes like mountain tops and _snow_ , just a little bit like his own blood, and like flower petals, wolfsbane, sweeter than any sugar, more poisonous and deadly than fire, though it burns the same.

When he pulls away, swallows, doesn't open his eyes, he relishes in the numbness the freeze brings, Stiles wrapped all around him like winter, like a blizzard beating against his skin. A small whine makes him look, see Stiles watching the pulse-point in his neck like it's personally offended him, and he fights not to smile.

"It's okay if you're hungry."

"I think I'm always going to be hungry," Stiles sighs, his teeth already bordering on fangs, "but you should replenish your strength before we do anything. I can-" he takes a deep breath, and his muscles tick- "I can wait. Jesus _Christ_ , you smell _good_."

Derek smirks, and Stiles leans in to kiss the expression away, muttering something about smug werewolves and stupid vampire senses.

"Did you tell anyone else?"

"My dad," Stiles tells him, "after you passed out. And I texted Scott to tell him I was alive, but I didn't say anything about what happened. I figure it might be better to break it to the rest of them all at once, _after_ we figure out what exactly this means for me. And for you. How are you doing with the whole," he waves a hand that indicates Derek's general person, "Alpha-ness? I'm sorry I threw that at you, but the hunger, it gets worse when you're an Alpha apparently, I wasn't prepared for it. Hell, I wasn't prepared for _any_ of it."

"I'm... better, than I was the first time. It's not so shocking. And my wolf wants _more_ , a bigger Pack, but I probably won't be going out recruiting a bunch of Betas," he looks down, shrugs, "having a Pack never seems to work out well for me."

" _I'm_ your Pack," Stiles whispers fiercely, puts his knuckles under his chin to angle his face up, make him meet whiskey-burn eyes, every word cut with steel, "and I _know_ you need three Betas to be stable. I'll not have you torturing yourself because of your guilt, self-loathing, or your damn martyr complex, Derek. You're a good Alpha, you _deserve_ a Pack, a _whole_ one, a fucking _family_ \- you always have."

Derek's breath hitches, his heart _aches_ , and he wonders how Stiles always does this, always makes him want to _continue_ , pushes him to _live_ , even when he's at the end of his rope, even when he isn't even really _there_.

"What about Scott?" Why isn't _he_ Stiles' Alpha, so much better, how can he make a Pack here when there's already another Pack in place? When it isn't even his territory anymore, not really?

Stiles sighs, "We'll deal with one problem at a time," he says, smacking a kiss on Derek's cheek, "first, _you_ need to eat, and drink, and probably take fucking vitamins or something. We both need a shower, and then we need to go to Deaton's. Sound like a plan, lover?"

Derek rolls his eyes, watching Stiles hop up from the bed without getting up himself quite yet, the boy speedily looking through Derek's clothes for something suitable to wear, he's not moving so fast that he's a blur, but it's a close thing.

"Lover?" He intones, half teasing, half curious, and Stiles looks over his shoulder with raised eyebrows.

"That's what we are now, isn't it? I mean, boyfriends sounds kinda... and, my dad's a _cop_ , so Partner would be confusing- well, unless that isn't what you want? If it's going to fast, or, or-"

" _Stiles_ ," Derek says, getting up from the bed, wrapping his arms around his middle from behind and hooking his chin over his shoulder. "I want this. It- you're _young_ , like I was, when- so, so it scares me, a little. You getting hurt, because of me or for any other reason, is- it's _terrifying_. But I already trust you, Stiles, and you already _got_ hurt, and I'm-" he sighs, buries his face into the back of Stiles' neck.

"I am a selfish man, and I am a coward," he says, because it's _true_. Stiles always brings that out in him, honesty, emotion, things he hides from everyone else. "I can't let you go," he breathes, "now that I have you."

Stiles turns around in his arms, looks up at him with wide, piercing eyes, a soft, sad sort of smile. "You're too hard on yourself," he says, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck, pressing their foreheads together. "You're nothing like **her** , and damn her, damn her for being part of the reason you feel this way about yourself. You're an _idiot_ , but you're the bravest most selfless man I know. _Stupidly_ selfless."

Derek snorts, "I'm pretty sure that title belongs to you."

"Der," Stiles says, solemn and earnest. He seems to want to say something else, so _many_ things, but they both know Derek won't ever believe him, and there's a little bit of heartache in his eyes, a whole lot of devotion, when he says instead, "I trust you, too."

Coming from the boy who's cynical and clever and jaded in his own way, the man who's been _destroyed_ by everyone he's ever let close, those words mean something. Maybe even mean more than the love that is so obvious, even left unsaid, when their lips meet again.

Derek has to wonder how they got here, if everything else, all the fighting, all the harrowed journey, was just build-up to this tiny moment of anxious joy.

He has to wonder if he deserves it, if the world will even let him _keep_ it.

* * *

Showers, a meal for Derek, and a few make-out sessions later, they were in the Camaro, heading to Deaton's. The shower had helped the creeping feeling of complete _dry_ -uncomfortable his skin was getting again, but it was nothing like the sea, and his skin already felt paper-thin, crisp, cracking, creaking.

He was _hungry_ , fucking _starved_.

Everyone smelled like a _meal_ , no one moreso than Derek, who he'd already _tasted_ , and every cell in his body cried out for more, for the taste of rich-sweet, pennies and dark chocolate and rose petals, felt like sex and the best kind of ecstacy, like _sunlight_ and _heat_ in the middle of a blizzard, in the middle of so much _lonely_. He _craved_ , wanted it again so badly he'd raze the _earth_ for it.

Fuck.

"Stiles?" Derek calls, standing just outside the car, door open, and the boy twitches back to awareness, tries to stop the way his hands shake.

"Hmm?"

"You good?"

"Mmhmm," he beams, points to the sun still high in the sky, "I'm not a burning husk, at least."

Derek snorts, "We already knew you wouldn't be."

"Well, sure, but it's reassuring to _experience_ it. I mean, it's not painful at all! Go me," he does a little jig, and Derek snorts again before climbing into the driver's seat, buckling his seatbelt and giving Stiles a pointed look until he follows suit. "Although, hey, do I sparkle?" He looks at his arm, and then flails when he sees a faint glittering there, "Oh my _god_ , no!"

"What?"

"I'm sparkly!" He cries out in indignant horror, flailing his arms at the man who just sighs and catches one of the limbs expertly, inspecting his pale skin.

"Fool's gold," he murmurs, flicking at some of the glints of light on him.

"Fool- like, pyrite? The mineral?"

Derek furrows his brow, then looks up at him, flashing his eyes Alpha red. Instincts pull the sleek shadow over his own eyes, _real_ eyes, make him want to submit and be still, not cower, never cower, they're still- in a very odd and new way- equals. He just feels _submissive_ , feels weak and vulnerable, but strong in knowing that this man, his wolf, will _always_ take care of him, tell him what to do, _listen_ , need, want, touch.

"You're covered in it," his Alpha tells him, and Stiles swallows, wonders if he'll ever get used to feeling like this.

"Something else to ask Deaton about?"

Derek hums thoughtfully, turns to the steering wheel, starts the car.

* * *

Stiles sits upon the metal table, the station so many animals have been treated on, and jiggles his leg, frenetic, nervous, agitated. His smell, blood and death, sweet soft, candy gloss, is both odd and perfectly at home amongst the scent of pain and animal, healing and magic, that lingers here.

Derek hovers at the end of the table, arms crossed over his chest to keep from reaching out and _touching_. He doesn't want to get in the Druid's way while the man inspects Stiles.

"Flash your eyes," Deaton instructs clinically after having inspected both human teeth and vampire fangs, blunt fingernails and char-black claws, that tuft of hair that's now as white as bone. Stiles does, irises becoming shadow, Derek's eyes flash red back almost involuntarily, and Deaton raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, that? Yeah, I kinda killed the bitch that turned me and then just sorta shoved the Alpha at 'im."

Deaton furrows his brows, "Why didn't you go to Scott?"

Stiles rolls his eyes, "Look, Scott's my _brother_ , my bestie, my _man_ , alright? And I love him with all my heart, I _do_ , but he isn't my Alpha. Derek is. He always has been. So I went to him."

Derek blinks in surprise because, really, he hadn't expected that at all, hadn't even really considered it. Has Stiles thought of him this way the whole time? When did it start? _How_?

Deaton, on the other hand, just inclines his head in understanding before pulling away from his examination, snapping his powder-blue latex gloves off.

"So... what's the verdict, doc? Am I a dead boy?"

"You are a member of the undead, yes. You will be able to live out your life relatively normally, with a few exceptions. The only thing you can consume without making yourself sick is water and, obviously, blood, and without _that_ , you will most likely die from acute starvation; your skin needs salt water in order to survive prolonged exposure to the sun, you're too easily dehydrated in _every_ sense. It would probably be a good idea to have a spritzer handy if you're planning on being out for long periods of time, and to go swimming as often as possible.

"You can heal, you can Beta-shift, and rather than feeling the pull of the moon it would be more accurate to say you feel the pull of the _tides_. You'll be drawn to the sea, and during the full moon, when the tides are coming in, your thirst will be near to impossible to deal with, unquenchable.

"The only thing that can kill you is a stake to the heart or irrevocable damage to the windpipe and spinal-cord areas. You're hereby immortal and incapable of aging. Congratulations, Stiles, you're a vampire."

Stiles is staring at Deaton with very wide eyes, swallowing, he chuckles nervously, "Yeah, I don't think that's something to really congratulate me for. Jesus."

Derek is at his side in an instant, helping him down from the table, running a gentling hand up his arm and frowning at the way small tremors run through him, the way his incredibly slow heart-rate stutters, his breath is uneven and hitching.

"Stiles?"

"I, I can't-" he shakes his head, gasping, choking on air. Slides down to the floor and puts his head between his knees making a high pitched sort of whine in the back of his throat.

 _Panic attack_ , Derek thinks, and kneels down in front of Stiles, not really thinking, just _needing_ to help him. He's never dealt with a panic attack before, but he remembers Cat having them, he remembers what his mom used to do to calm her down.

He cups Stiles' face in his hands, brings tremulous, watery brown eyes up to meet his own.

" _Breathe_ , Stiles," he tells him, eyes flashing red, "in, hold it, now exhale," eyes shifting back to hazel, Alpha on the in, human on the out, and over, and over, and over again, until he's listening, doing, _breathing_.

"Good boy, one more deep breath for me, okay? In... and out," he sighs, rubs the pads of his thumbs right under Stiles' red-rimmed eyes, watching him with concern.

"I'm- I'm good," he sniffs, "better, now. Guess even vampires can get panic attacks, huh? Who'd'a thunk?"

Derek huffs at that, leans down to press a soft kiss against still trembling lips and tells him, "It'll be okay." He hopes, prays.

"Yeah," Stiles murmurs with a shaky sigh. Both of them snap to attention when Deaton very loudly clears his throat to the left of them, Stiles blushing a bright, adorable sort of red.

"H-hi?" Stiles stutters, waving at him from the floor, and Deaton just shakes his head fondly as Derek helps pull the boy back up to standing.

"I'll look into a way to turn you back, Stiles, in the meantime... Talk to Scott. And try not to get into any more trouble."

Stiles bobs his head understandingly, gives the man a little salute, "I'll be on my best behavior."

Deaton's eyes crinkle around the edges with amusement, "I'm sure."

* * *

"We're going shopping," Stiles tells him as soon as they get in the car, and Derek frowns at him.

"Why?"

"Because," he fiddles with his hands in his lap, "I don't want to talk to Scott just yet- and you need _groceries_ , man. Have you seen your fridge? Your pantry? It's depressing. Besides, I apparently need a spritzer with salt-water so my skin can stop feeling like it's- ugh, _wilting_ or something."

Derek huffs a little laugh and nods, thinking to himself about all the days he could barely get out of bed, face the loft itself, let alone anywhere, any _one_ , outside of it. How he'd imagine Stiles, pushing, clinical, distant but honest, someone he could trust to take care of him when he could barely take care of himself, even if it was only in the privacy of his own mind.

Now, here he is, kind, soft, soothing, gentle. Even in his own fear and anxiety, helping Derek out of the cocoon of anger and wary and ache he'd steadily built around himself. It's always Stiles, before he'd noticed, before he'd _wanted_ , this boy, ceaselessly, selflessly, saving him.

He smiles softly to himself.

Maybe he can have this.

Maybe being selfish, just this once, won't lead to death and destruction?

Please, God, everything else has been taken away, lost and slaughtered, burnt and bloody. Just let him have this, and he'll never ask for anything more.

* * *

Scott walks into the loft just the slightest bit wary, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, and the twins (having mostly proven themselves) all behind him. It smells like meat and honey and smoked hickory and spices, underneath that, the smell of Pack, salt water, and faint traces of blood.

Last night Stiles had texted them all to say that he was fine, but he'd texted them all again to gather for a Pack meeting here, now. It's worrisome, but seeing his best friend in Derek's kitchen has him settling somewhat, because, despite being paler than normal, he doesn't seem injured, and he's dancing around, chattering on, same as usual.

It spikes right back up when the other teen turns toward him, a new lock of startling white hair on his head, eyes flashing an ominous black as he takes a deep pull from his bottle of water.

"Heya Scott," he says, like this is nothing, like everyone isn't gaping and mildly horrified by these events. "You know how I said I wasn't dead?" The shadow-smoke dissipates from his irises as he throws them all a wan smile, "About that..."

* * *

"You're a vampire?" Scott asks incredulously for about the fourteenth time, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Yep! And I actually _do_ sparkle, a little, it's disgusting."

"You do?" Allison asks curiously around a mouthful of food. They're all sitting at Derek's table, eating the meal Stiles made for them, discussing his new state of being. Derek's kind of surprised no one seems worried about the Alpha revelation. Stiles told them everything, what had happened, how, that he'd gone to Derek after and given him red eyes again, but Scott, Lydia, and Allison hadn't even seemed _surprised_.

Isaac, Ethan, and Aidan had, but beyond raised eyebrows, hadn't said much.

Allison sets down her fork to lean over the table and scrutinize him before her eyes get very wide, "Oh my god! You _do_!"

"Yeah, apparently I, like, sweat pyrite or something, it's so _weird_. Although, it does beg the question- I mean, she kind of went into the significance of eye colors, and she definitely overdramatized the," he does jazz hands and says with very melodramatic flair, " _sparkle_ factor- but, maybe she knew someone? A vampire?"

"Huh, that's- but then what about werewolves?"

"Yeah, she got those _all_ wrong."

"Guys!" Scott sounds beyond exasperated, "This isn't Twilight! Stiles is a- he's a-"

"A vampire," Isaac supplies, "we got that."

"A blood addict," Stiles offers with a sharp smile, although a scent like resignation and mild sadness flows off of him, and Derek takes his hand under the table, laces their fingers together. The boy sighs, looking down, and everyone goes quiet, solemn in the moment, as the realization seems to really hit that this isn't particularly a good thing.

Humor, sarcasm, and bravado aside, Stiles _values_ his humanity, it isn't something he'd ever wanted to lose, and Derek has a feeling he would rather be a werewolf than _this_.

"Look, Deaton's looking into a way to change me back, to see if he even _can_ , until then... I've just gotta deal, we all do. I'm a vampire- and that's- that's that."

"Yeah, okay, buddy," Scott says with a sympathetic smile, taking his other hand. "We'll be here for you, alright?"

Stiles grins at him, "I know."

* * *

As the rest of the teens filter out, with the exception of Stiles since it seems he'll need to feed before he can handle being around his father, Derek stops Scott for a beat. The other Alpha looks up at him, questioning.

"I thought you'd be angrier," Derek admits softly, "about..."

Scott, inexplicably, grins at him, clapping him on the shoulder, "No way, dude. You've been Stiles' Alpha for forever, even when I got the power. He can't see me as anything other than his brother- you're more than that to him, different, he _listens_ to you, and he expects the same. He's saved my life a dozen times, man, but he'll never expect me to save his, he'd never even ask me to. It wouldn't even occur to him.

"It's different with you. If you didn't risk your life to save his ass as many times as he risked his he'd pummel you, and, and say, like, _you owe me, Sourwolf_ , or something. He doesn't just take care of you, like he does with everybody else, he _survives_ for you, and he _expects_ that from you right back. And he loves you, dude, he's probably loved you right from the beginning.

"It might be weird, living in a town with two Packs, but it'll only be for a little while. Allison and I aren't staying here for college, and I'm pretty sure Isaac and the twins will come with us, and Lydia- well, Lydia's got her own plans.

"You and Stiles would _never_ leave Beacon Hills, and it's always belonged to the Hales anyway, it never- it's never felt like _mine_ , you know? Besides, you make Stiles _happy_ , that's all I could ask for, dude."

Derek is... astounded, breathless, has this warmth bubbling in his heart that makes him feel _floaty_ and it's been so fucking long since he's felt this, but he's pretty sure he knows what it is.

 _Joy_.

Scott's earnest puppy dog face instantly turns serious as he levels Derek with a glare, "If you hurt him, though..."

"I'd die first," Derek says, completely seriously, and Scott gives a curt nod before grinning boyishly like the solemn, mildly threatening moment had never passed.

"Cool. See you, dude."

* * *

Stiles splashes his face with water after he's finished washing the dishes, and it feels so _good_ against the itch-dry pull of his skin that he does it again, takes a handful of water and soaks his arms, his head, he's lost in it and practically soaking by the time Derek gets to him.

"You _could_ just take a shower, you know," the older man says, but it sounds like he's smiling, even as Stiles drips all over his hardwood floors, and Stiles swallows audibly.

He knows Derek already knows, he already explained he'd _have_ to if he wanted to be able to go home tonight without stabbing his father in the carotid just to- _fuck_.

"I'm _so_ hungry," he says, like it's ripped from him, but he _is_ , it's been steadily building since the _moment_ his teeth had left Derek's throat. And the _smells_ , of people, of wolves, hearts beating and blood flowing, it's all only fueled his hunger. He tries to praise himself, his self-control, that he's lasted this long, but it still feels like a failure to need it again so soon.

Derek comes up behind him, his arms settling around his middle, squeezing. He doesn't care at all that the water covering Stiles will soak him, he didn't care last night either, like the need to touch supersedes the discomfort.

"I know," The older man breathes against the back of his neck, presses a kiss there as Stiles begins to tremble, his hands white-knuckled against the sink. Derek, so close, smells like every single thing Stiles _needs_.

Like the drug his entire being _craves_.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whimpers.

"Don't be," Derek tells him, and that's the last of whatever energy he was using to hold himself back. He spins faster than either of them were prepared for, and they both end up stumbling to the floor with the force of it, but Stiles can't care, not when there's the steady beat of a heart so close, not when there's open, vulnerable, tanned flesh right in front of him, blood rushing just beneath.

He can feel it, smell it, _wants_ so fucking badly to just _taste_ it.

He's already panting when his tongue lances out, licks a stripe up Derek's neck, tastes salt-sweat and leather and _skin_ and _Derek_.

"It's okay," Derek soothes quietly against his temple, running a gentling hand down his back. "It's okay, Stiles. _Drink_."

He bites down at the order, unable to further resist, his teeth sharper and elongated pierce through Derek easily, and the _taste_ , the rich, raw, delicious of it makes him shiver all over, makes him go weak with pleasure and mewl as blood flows into his mouth, thick and sweeter than anything.

Derek rumbles under him, gasps out a choked groan when he ruts against him, hips bracketed by Derek's legs, hands fisting into the back of his shirt. It feels _good_ , the rush of it, the taste, the need finally _satisfied_ , it bubbles in his body, makes him _hot_ , burn-tingle, mad-lust, and he can't help but press his hardening cock up against Derek's, writhing, keening even with his mouth full.

It's more intimate than anything else he's ever experienced, for all that they're both fully clothed, and more dangerous, despite everything the two of them have faced together. So _careful_ , he has to be so _careful_ , and he can't go too far like this, not just in the sense that he can't take too much, no matter how starved he feels. But he's never going to let them get off, not all the way, like _this_.

Not when true consent can't be given.

Not when he knows what Kate did to him, he'd _never_ push Derek's trust in him that way, he'd kill himself first.

So, even though it's almost _painful_ , he pulls himself back, focuses on drinking only until it seems like the flow isn't coming as easy, and then he forces himself to unlock his jaw, push away, lick the last drops away from his lips.

"Stiles," Derek gasps, and he sounds more than a little wrecked. Stiles hums against the slowly healing bite mark he's left, his teeth still feeling a magnetic pull, his body all _want_ and _crave_ and _more_.

"I've got you, baby," Derek murmurs into his hair, and he sounds so sleepy, so out of it, that Stiles is scared for a moment that maybe he went too far, took too much, but when he looks up into well-deep swamp-murky eyes, full of dazzling color and vast emotion, like all those terrible walls have been turned to dust, he sees that his lover is fine, a little dazed, but _smiling_.

And his heart _aches_ , because he's never seen Derek so _open_ , so _happy_ before. It's been years since he first met this man, how can this be the first time he's ever seen him _smile_?

Derek cups his face with his hands, brushes away tears Stiles wasn't aware he'd cried, and kisses him sound, breathless, "It's gonna be okay, Stiles. I've got you."

* * *

John watches his son come in, paler and more harrowed than anything, and, just the slightest bit, ashamed. It's in the way his eyes turn down, his shoulders slump, and he knows he needs to stop this now, because, he knows, this isn't at all Stiles' fault.

"Hey, kiddo," he greets, "welcome home."

Stiles hums, stalks over to sit next to him on the couch, though he leaves more than a little space between them. John takes note of his son's skin, even whiter than normal, his hair, a streak of white that wasn't there before, his eyes, downcast, and his whole body, agitated.

"You okay, son?"

"No," Stiles murmurs, and it sounds a little like a sob. John sighs, wraps his arm around his boy's shoulder, doesn't flinch away from the cold, and makes him lean against his side, the distance he'd created obliterated.

"It's okay," he says, "it'll be okay."

"Derek said that, too," Stiles admits with a broken sort of laugh. "I can't help but wondering _how?_ Will Deaton ever find a cure? Will I ever stop feeling like I'm drying up? Like I _need_ \- just- _more_? Do you even know how loud your heartbeat is right now? How hungry I am? How much this- I'm _scared_. Of _myself_."

"We'll figure it out," John tells him, because what else can he say to that? "We always do."

He doesn't know if his son believes him, but he snuggles into the embrace, and watches the game that'd been on with him, falls asleep like that, like a little kid, terrified, hopeful and jaded, both.

He hopes he and Derek are right, that this'll be okay, he doesn't want to think about what will happen to Stiles if they're wrong.

* * *

Stiles begins researching with Deaton, throws himself into it full force, whilst he simultaneously tries to find Derek two other Betas, or, one, actually, since his father aligned himself with Derek's Pack as soon as he found out what was going on.

Lydia and Stiles, both, have contacts in London, since they were the ones who found Jackson a Pack after he moved, and it turns out there's another vampire there, alone, in need of a Coven or a Pack, recently turned by a ruthless rogue Alpha. Her name is Charlotte, and she was very amenable to the idea of coming to Beacon Hills, since she felt a pull there anyway, as most supernatural creatures did, after their sacrifice to the Nemeton.

She'd be coming next week, she and her girlfriend, Alice, who is to her what Derek is to him.

Lover and meal.

It seems more crude and cruel than it is, but, honestly, the act of consumption, as a vampire, is incredibly intimate, and Stiles would in no way be willing to go there with anyone else.

Derek's lounging on the rocks as Stiles swims, his only other food supply the fish, and the lake in the Preserve such an incredible solace. It's different than the sea, not as satisfying or fulfilling, but the depths are just as dark, the silence just as consuming, and the hydration goddamn _wonderful_.

He wonders, a little, at some of the stories, that vampires evolved from Mermaids, Sirens, it makes sense, in some ways- not enough in others, but it's a fantastical sort of thing. Something he'd like to believe as truth, just because it's pretty, and not much about this whole ordeal _can_ be that, pretty.

He comes up to the surface- not needing to breathe really allows for a lot of time down there, since drowning isn't even a possibility, but he knows it worries Derek, not to see him come up for too long. Lots of things, he's noticed, worry Derek.

Going outside, talking to people, _sleeping_ , going farther than kissing until Stiles officially turns eighteen. He's slowly been getting to know the depths of it, PTSD, trauma, so entrenched in his being, and all of it makes him, sometimes, want to raise Kate from the dead just so he can _properly_ slaughter her, tear her limb from limb.

But nothing scares Derek more than Stiles. Because he clings to this, this _one good thing_ , the Pack he finally has again, like it'll be torn from him the second he lets down his guard, just like the other two were. And Stiles knows, even though the man has yet to say it, that Derek loves him.

He wonders, as he sees Derek smile at him, from his place on the mossy stones, just the slightest bit more comfortable out of the loft, the slightest bit more calm and _happy_ , since Stiles has been with him, pushing him, praising him on his progress- he wonders who saved who, that night, when Stiles came to him scared and starved and wanting, with red eyes and a supernatural gift he never asked for.

Maybe they just saved each other, or maybe they ensured mutual destruction, on their own terms. He has no idea. But he smiles back, climbs out of the water and onto Derek's lap despite the fact that this will surely soak the other man, and revels in the gentle laughter that bubbles up from him as he wraps his arms around Stiles, strong and sure.

Stiles, arms going around Derek's neck, body melting against his, whispers, because he feels it, stronger than any tide, stronger, even, than his lingering and constant hunger, and he has to _tell_ him, "I love you."

Derek stills for a moment, before he's smiling against Stiles' shoulder.

"I love you, too."

Stiles grins, it's not the _best_ happy ending, there's still so much to do, supernatural enemies to face, a cure to find, birthdays and sexytimes to be had, a long discussion about the possibility of _therapy_ which, in all honesty, they both probably need- but he's in the arms of the man he loves, and they're figuring it out, they _are_.

Who knows?

Maybe things will be okay, after all?

**Author's Note:**

> If you were wondering! No, Malia doesn't exist, I'm shit at too many characters, but I swear to everything holy that I'm working on it!!
> 
> Also, the Nogitsune dies/ withers/ doesn't handle _change_ well, and although it had already posessed Stiles, it got fucked over when he got turned, hence, no Kitsunes showed up, and the Nogitsune won't be posing a problem.
> 
> I tagged maladaptive daydreaming, because, even though it's not explicitly adressed, and there's only even really one scene that could count as that, that's what Derek's doing, it's a canon coping mechanism, and it deserved to be noted.
> 
> I futzed, for plot's sake, and my own, with vamp-y-ness and timelines, excuse moi.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!!! All the love! Muah, muah, muah!!!


End file.
